Half Birthday Niceties
by Song of Grey Lemons
Summary: Anyone who thinks plants are harmless have clearly never seen a venus flytrap. They've also never met Emma Frost. "Happy half-birthday, Scott!" has a whole new meaning now.


**Half-Birthday Niceties **

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing you recognize.

**A/N**: Please note that this takes place way before X-Men (the 2000 movie) and I have not seen XMFC. Also, Emma Frost from the cartoons and comics is here; this is not to say that I've seen or read either of them. My ideas of Emma are quite vague, but I think they are accurate enough. Basically, the only background that you need for this story is that she, like Jean, is a competitor for Scott's affection and her powers are transforming into a diamond and telepathy. So, let us begin, keeping in mind that the characters are only fifteen-ish. Yes, this is a long time before the movies. I know.

The rain drips through a small hole in the attic ceiling, landing atop the petals of one of my precious gardenias. Every single plant in my attic greenhouse seems melancholy, as though it can sense the rain. Come to think of it, they always look under the weather when I'm upset (it most likely has to do with the rain thing). "Yes," I say to the garden at large, glancing around. "I am angry, and for a good reason, too." Irate, I stride over to one of the potted lilies and stroke its petals gently. On any other day, I find this to be soothing; today is an exception. Annoyed with the world, the lily, myself, and a certain diamond telepath downstairs, I sit down on a worn wooden stool near the daffodils' corner and begin to describe my day to the plants.

"I knew something was going to go wrong when Emma called yesterday, saying that she had a little half-birthday surprise for Scott and requested the right to visit. Now, if she'd asked me, I would have told her that we had plans that most certainly did not involve _her._ But of course, Scott just _had _to pick up the phone and I doubt that he'll refuse her anything. Jean spent the rest of what could have been a perfectly good Friday evening mumbling something about how 'Emma is just trying to show off for Scott because she knew that no one else would have gotten him anything' and warning everyone who'd listen that 'there may be a war raging throughout the mansion tomorrow which may involve several flying chairs.'" I tuck a strand of my white hair behind one ear and groan softly as I rub a strange red mark on my arm. "Well, she was mostly correct." The rain intensity increases again, providing the perfect sound effect for my tale.

"So, Emma arrives this morning by limousine, accompanied by her chauffeur and a pair of, by her standards, hideous-looking crutches. You should have seen Jean's face as our visitor got out of the car; I swear, Jeanie looked like she would strain some facial muscle, smiling like that. Well, her glee was very short-lived," I say with a sigh, glancing around myself at all of the attentively listening plants.

"Scott obviously _has to _usher Emma in through the door, _has to _get her luggage out from the limo, and_ has to _ask a multitude of things all along the lines of 'oh, darling, what happened to your poor leg?' and she keeps saying that she'll explain everything once she can elevate her bandaged leg because 'the doctor said that she has to keep it that way,' which prompts Jean to suggest that someone attempted to knock some sense into Ms. Frost, namely by knocking all of her down a flight of stairs, and failed miserably and to wonder exactly how many months her doctor spent in med school. And Emma keeps throwing these strange, smug sort of smiles her way that are causing Jean's grin to slowly vanish," as I speak, I get up from the stool and walk over to the table on which I forgot my coffee mug this morning. I take a sip before continuing.

"Well, Emma, Scott, Jean, and I all go/limp into the living room to listen to Emma's story.

'Oh, Scott,' she simpers, 'happy half-birthday. This was supposed to be my surprise for you.' We all stare blankly at her. Then Jean says,

'Do you mean that coming in with crutches and a bandaged leg was _planned_?' Emma sighs as she shifts her weight and groans.

'I meant _this_,' she tells Jean coldly and then starts unraveling her bandages.

'Are you sure that this is smart? I mean, if the doctor said... ' Jean starts to tell Emma, but the latter cuts her off with,

'Oh, I don't really listen to doctors, do you?' And Emma knows, just like everyone else that Jean's ambition is to become a doctor. I can see that Jean's biting her lip to keep from saying something really bad to Emma, not because she cares about Frost but because Emma will be giving Jean grief for months if she says what's on her mind," I pause for another sip of coffee and to run my hand along the curve of the stem of my maple seedling.

"So, Emma takes of the wrappings and the area around her knee's all pinkish and tender-looking. And then, she turns it so that you can see under her knee. And, believe it or not, someone's _tattooed the word 'Scott' on the back of her leg_! Can you believe it?" I shake my head for emphasis, dizzying myself to the point where it starts to snow. I stop fast, mainly to avoid freezing my plants.

"She's still grinning, all smug and happy to have beaten Jean, who is slowly turning a strange shade of baby blue. And Scott's all 'oh, Em, you didn't have to' and 'that's so sweet of you.' Yeah, totally helpful, isn't it? So, once Jean gets over something that I'm pretty sure is classified as a very mild aneurysm, she says,

'Are you sure you did this in a clean and safe tattooing place?' And Emma just grins and says,

'Actually, my friend did it for me in her garage.'

And Jean says some thing along the lines of, 'Is that safe? I mean, what about infection? Which, judging by the look of you knee, is occurring? You don't _tattoo something on your leg on your own_, for goodness' sake!' And Emma just stares. Then she scoffs,

'Well, it was just a little half-birthday present for Scottie. So what if I have a little infection?'

'A little infection,' Jean repeats woodenly.

'Yes. The doctor gave me an ointment to use and said I'll only need crutches for a week or two.'

'A week or two,' Jean stares at Emma like the latter has lost her mind.

'Yeah. AND I proved that unlike some red-heads, I am not afraid of needles.'

'Not afraid of needles.' Tension's building up, and Scott's looking really uncomfortable, and then the Professor walks in and asks Scott if he can go and help repair the jet. So, Scott runs out, grateful for the excuse to leave. Meanwhile, the catfight continues.

'Yes and I'm also not a stupid, worthless, fail of a parrot named Jean. You aren't even a real telepath. I mean, you can't even use Cerebro. Of course Scott doesn't like you, because he is smart enough to like _real_ women.

'Not a stupid, worthless, fail of a- _**what?**_' Let me tell you, she got out of her shocked state when Emma said that. And then Emma goes,

'Would you like me to repeat that?'" I shudder involuntarily and glance down at my arm, which is bleeding again. I go over to the spot where the roof is leaking and wash it, staining the gardenia beneath the hole red.

"Then, dear Emma starts to make fun of Jean worse than ever. I swear, she acts like a three-year-old, calling the red-head names and telling her that she just isn't daring enough to get tattooed and was- well, some of the things she said don't need repeating. Jean's angry and responds, of course, but I keep thinking that she's being a whole lot less vengeful than she typically is around Emma. Turns out that she was just plotting.

When Emma starts to tell _really _nasty things to Jean, she makes the mistake of standing with her back towards the door and doesn't see the bunny rabbit that is being levitated in by a very angry telekinetic. As a matter of fact, she doesn't notice until the good old cottontail takes a nice chunk out of her leg. So, she freaks out, and the next moment Jeanie's levitated the rabbit on top of her head. Emma pulls it out of her hair with a scream and chucks it at me. It hooks onto my arm with its teeth and I manage to dislodge it, but only after its drawn blood. I can tell you, I cleared out fast." I stop ranting and take a deep breath, reminding myself that if I don't relax, I'll flood the entire country. And ruin my plants by enlarging the hole in the roof. I really have go to remind the Professor to ask someone to patch it up…

"'Ro?" a voice calls up through the attic trap-door. I straighten my hair and sigh.

"Yes, Jean, come in," I respond. The door creaks slightly as the telepath cracks it open and walks in, looking slightly bruised and rubbing her temples the way she typically does when she has a migraine. "So, was it a full-out war front down there?"

She hesitates. "Well," she tells me, "chairs were thrown, as promised, and diamond punches were thrown (literally), but all in all it was less of a catfight than what normally occurs when Emma comes." I laugh out loud.

"So, is anything else planned? Can I come down without the risk of being mauled by a rabbit?" I inquire, cocking my head slightly. She looks confused, and then catches sight of my arm.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Once the battle calms a bit, I'll take you down to the Med Lab and patch it up. It was a pet bunny with a rabies vaccination, don't worry," Jean says soothingly.

"So, is anything else happening today?" I ask. She furrows her forehead.

"Nothing much, Emma's leaving tomorrow. When you left, she fired off all of the insults she knew, which happens to be quite a lot. And somehow managed to evade both Scott and the Professor. I mean, Scott still thinks she's charming!" Jean says as she slumps against an attic wall. She sighs loudly.

"Well, if this helps, I'll compare Emma to a plant for you. Venus flytrap, for instance. Traps her prey with sickeningly sweet behavior and then devours them," I shrug, feebly attempting to cheer her up. Jean giggles.

"No, she's a hairy vetch. You know, just plain disgusting!" she announces brightly.

"Rose. Femininely thorny."

"Woody nightshade; poison to us all."

"Poison ivy; itchy if touched."

"Weed; contaminates already inhabited areas."

"Thorn bush; painful."

"Undercooked eggplant."

"What!" I cry out, laughter causing my painstakingly applied eyeliner running in tracks down my cheeks.

"Well, it _is_ about how intelligent she is." We burst out laughing again. Jean, however, stops abruptly when she hears Emma speaking downstairs.

"Oh, Scottie, I love you…" Jean hisses strangely and mumbles something involving the words 'murder' and 'levitating' and 'horse bites.'

"Uh, Jeanie, isn't that a bit…extreme?" I ask, alarmed at what she is suggesting. She considers for a moment that last too long for my comfort before nodding in agreement.

"I'll think of a more creative thing to do to her." Her eyes scan the room and fall upon an old, rusted flower pot containingting moldy dirt and a dead flower. "Do you really _need_ that?"

Actually, I'd been meaning to throw it out for a while now. It's quite disgusting, really, and I'm wondering why on earth she would need such a hideous thing, until I see the malicious glint in her eye. I can almost see the plan forming in her mind. A plan involving this plant with a card reading "To Emma, From Scott." I grin back at her.

"No, I don't. And I do have some left over 'thank-you' stationary…"


End file.
